


witch

by YouAreMyDesign



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Blood and Violence, Blow Jobs, Body Horror, Bottom Will Graham, Canon-Typical Violence, Cock Vore, Dark Will Graham, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dove so dead it's a zombie, Fear of Death, Genital Torture, Giant Spiders, M/M, Magic, Multiple Orgasms, Mutilation, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Organ Fucking, Oviposition, Physical Disability, Rape, Scarification, Scarring, Sexual Violence, Size Difference, Size Kink, Spider God Hannibal, Spiders, Spiders coming out of every orafice, Tentacle Dick, Top Hannibal Lecter, Vore, Witch Will Graham, venom - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:15:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21685891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouAreMyDesign/pseuds/YouAreMyDesign
Summary: "I am not without mercy," Hannibal whispers to him, and Will whimpers. "You will repay my kind for the lives you took, little Will. If you are strong enough."
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 45
Kudos: 424





	witch

**Author's Note:**

> This dove is so dead it became a zombie and was killed again.  
> It's pretty much consensual by the end if you get that far.

They come for Will in the middle of the night. He knows to expect it, and leaves the door unlocked so they don't damage the hinges and the frame. They come in a pack of fourteen, and he watches them dispassionately as they throw his glass jars and potions from the shelves, tear out pages from his books and throw them on the fire, and kick viciously at the shelves of herbs and medicines until they scatter and fall to the ground.

"This man bewitched my daughter," one man says. "He turned her stomach so hot with lust she is now with child!"

To which he replies, one brow raised and voice even; "Your daughter fell in love with a man you didn't approve of. I married them, and they begat a son, nothing more."

"The animals know to be afraid of him!" another man cries. "The sheep scream and the horses won't go near him."

"They are afraid of my animal. He has wolf blood in him, same as yours."

Accusations come in fits and starts as he is cuffed and led from his home. He released his wolfhound the night before, knowing he would be taken, and sees no fresh tracks nor hears the animal huffing and howling for him. It is likely they will never cross paths again.

"Burn him," one villager hisses.

"No, he will poison the air! Feed him to the dogs."

"No, he will make them wild, or sick. Best to bury him."

"Drown him!"

" _Exile_."

Commander Jack Crawford is the guardian of the cluster of villages that sit at the bottom of the mountain. It is with a heavy-set face and a severe scowl that he sentences Will; "You will leave with nothing but the clothes on your back and a small knife to defend yourself. You will take none of your worldly possessions. You will leave, and never return to this country."

Exile, he supposes, is the kindest option, and he resists calling them fools. He has no power to curse them, no magic beyond the medicines he has learned and the trade he knows, the communion with animals he has spent long years perfecting, but they are fools, he wants to say, for letting a 'witch' live to see his revenge.

They give him a knife that is shorter than his forefinger and too thin-bladed to be of any defense, and lead him to the edge of the woods. Under their heavy stares and wary eyes, he walks on, and lets the trees encase him.

There are monsters in these woods. Beasts even he knows he has never seen nor heard of. Great behemoths that were vomited from the skies and the oceans when the world was new – titans, and evil things not even the gods wish to look upon.

There are creatures with too many eyes and too many teeth. Claws and talons and sharp, sharp smiles. Immortal, unchanging, content to rest within the forgotten realms of the world and feast on the heat in the center of the earth. Dumb animals know not to go there.

Will sleeps the first night in the shelter of a giant oak. It is fitful, and restless, for he thinks he can see the shine of large, black, beady eyes watching him just out of reach of the glow of his meagre fire. Every skitter above his head in the tree's boughs, every groan and rustle of leaf in the wind makes him startle, heart racing.

He dares not hunt for meat lest he risk angering a larger creature and threaten it for its meal, but there are berries thick-clustered this time of year, and every plant cradles water in its leaves and stems, and Will drinks his fill from dock leaves and redberry bushes. He suckles on the spines of thorns, licks the rosebuds, feasts on the worms and crickets and beetles he can conjure from the earth's soil.

On the third day of his exile, he finds a nest of susurrating bees, and whispers to them, begging for their honey. The queen herself dances across his fingers and nuzzles his palm, and a soldier stings him at the hollow of his throat, but he is allowed to eat their excess. He thanks them and places large fallen branches in a cover over their nest, so the rains do not bother them when the season comes.

When he reaches the river, he falls to his knees at the edge of it, dipping his hands into the cool running water and bowing down to sate his thirst. There are fish in this river, and little water bugs dance in pools where the water slows and goes still. A frog watches him with a wary eye near her clutch of eggs. Above him, a hawk calls to his mate, and he looks up, smiling when he sees the pair unite, and join for a dive.

He sighs, sitting on his heels. The air is freezing cold, his breath misting and frost touching the edges of the river, but the sun feels nice. His fingers curl, seeking warmth under his own arms, and he shivers. He has no cloak, no means to warm himself aside from whatever fires he can manage, and with the cold and the encroaching rains, it will soon become impossible.

If he walks for two weeks, he will reach the ocean. There are people there, who do not know about the landlocked fear of witches and superstition. They might welcome him, or at the very least, let him work until he has earned a boat, and then he can sail to shores unmarked, and find a place for himself there.

A branch snaps somewhere behind him, and Will jerks in surprise, falling to his ass in the cold river water. He shivers, eyeing the trees, searching for the pelt of a wolf or bear, or something much larger and much more threatening. He grips his knife, searching, searching, but sees nothing.

He stands, and moves on.

When the dawn rises again, he squints his eyes up to the tree that provided him shelter, and catches sight of a beautiful spider, her legs stretched out wide within her web, her body slim and delicate, painted on the body with a bright red hourglass. A widow, he thinks. He watches her nimbly crawl across her web to a captured fly, wrap it in spun silver like a mother might swaddle her young baby. He watches her eat the fly's head, and imagines until that moment it was screaming.

He shivers, and looks away. He has no fear of spiders, of nothing living and mortal, but he moves in deference to her, crawling from beneath her large web that drips with dew, and moves on.

The further into the heart of the woods he goes, the less he sees of squirrels and rabbits and birds, and the more spiders he sees. The trees are thick-clustered, their trunks huge and wide, and between them, in the void of darkness beneath the canopies, he sees their webs. They grow thick, undisturbed by anything as large as he, at the level of his hands and stretching up, up, to paint the branches and leaves white.

He moves carefully, unwilling to be caught on them, navigating what begins to look like a path. The spiders are smart, and know wolves and deer and man will damage their webs if they weave them in certain places. There always exists, somewhere, a pair of trees that have not been barred to him, and he follows the circling route, deeper and deeper into the woods, until he can no longer see the sun, and the frost bites through the thin leather of his boots.

He shivers, breath misting, and looks up with dismay. Without the sun, and without a compass or map, he knows he will quickly become lost. He turns, to try and find a place where the trees are parted, but can find nothing. Panic seizes him, and his heart is racing, and he thinks the spiders are watching him now, with their beading eyes. Some of them hold malice in their hearts, and he thinks he can hear them whispering to each other;

_Oh, if you were just a little smaller, or I a little larger, sweet-blooded thing…_

He dares not sleep, sure that if he does, he will wake encased in a web, a thousand mandibles gnawing on his fingers and toes, the soft parts of his face and arms, the blood-ripe meat in his stomach. He marches on, sure that if he simply continues in one direction, he will find a break in the trees or a give to the ocean. A river, for his throat is dry with thirst.

He wanders, only aware when it's night because the air becomes too thick with shadows to see. He cannot tell where the webs are, for even the moon cannot penetrate the trees. Hungry, thirsty, and frozen with fear, he must rest, and wait for the sun to rise again.

He feels it on his hands, first; a tentative brush of a long leg around his knuckles. He bats it away, breathing hard. In the darkness he cannot see, but he can hear the spiders watching him, feel the vibrations of their dances in their webs as they creep closer. He feels a tickle in his hair, down the back of his neck, and rises, brushing another orb weaver away. Hears it drop to the ground in a scatter of leaves.

Then, heavy and hollow, he hears another branch snap. Something far too large, and far too close. Panic seizes in his chest, freezes him in place. He holds his breath and tries to listen over the pounding of his heart.

Another creak, like two great trees forced to bow, and a snarl that sends ice into his very bones.

He runs, one hand out to warn him where there's a tree, and feels cobwebs and dead knots of bugs bat against his face. He runs without direction, too afraid, too blind. He stumbles over roots and his own feet, and his shoulder collides with a tree so suddenly and harshly that he falls to his knees.

It is then that the monster chasing him catches him. There are hands, though that means nothing, and warm breath on the back of his neck.

"Hush, little one," a voice says, low and with an accent old and foreign as the gods. "I've caught you."

A sharp pain pierces his spine and Will cries out, and then there's a hand over his mouth, and a warm feeling floods him. The creature's venom, he thinks, as it oozes into his back, drips down his spine and soaks his clothes. Will goes limp, closing his eyes, and the knife falls from his hand, as useless as it has always been.

He is wrapped up in strong arms, and then lifted, and the darkness swallows him whole.

He wakes in a pit, the sun illuminating the edges of it, telling him that it is deep and lined with roots, like a tree once stood here and was ripped out of its moors. He is warm, and shaking, startled at the idea that he is still, somehow, alive. He coughs, rolling onto his hands and knees. Still with the clothes on his back, still with all his limbs. He feels heavy, and his stomach is warm like he has been fed. He presses his hand to it and frowns down at the moist, cool ground beneath his body. The dirt is soft, wet, dug into his nails and painting the lines of his knuckles.

He hears movement, and rolls to his back, gasping as his eyes alight on the creature that caught him.

At first, he sees only the head and torso of a man. The creature's face is fine-featured, sharp-boned, its shoulders broad, hair painted across its chest in a mimic of an older male of Will's species. But then his eyes drag down. The creature wears no clothes, and so he can see that where his belly would naturally dip and narrow to hips, and genitals, there is instead a set of large spider-like fangs, sharply pointed and dripping with venom, or saliva, he cannot tell.

The creature smiles at him, and lowers itself down from its perch. Eight long legs emerge from a hole in the pit, revealing a black, shining body like that of a spider, jutting out behind him. Half man, half spider, as a centaur would be. The creature's second body is huge, large enough that Will could comfortably curl up in the hollow of its carapace. Its legs arch up high from the sides of its body, and there are two more than the eight circled around its hips like a second pair of arms, clawed and settled in rest.

Horror grips Will, staring at the creature. Its legs are large enough to encompass the pit entirely, and as it emerges from its hole, it prowls up to Will, and Will can see, jutting from the back of it, a large, dripping spine. Undoubtedly, he thinks, what penetrated his back and made him lose consciousness.

The creature's human mouth splits in a smile, and Will is shivering with fear, pressed up on the edges of the pit, as far back as he can go, but the spider god is large and quickly towers over him, blocking out the sun.

"Hello, little one," it purrs, undoubtedly masculine, and Will's wide eyes meet his. The creature bows, and takes Will's chin in its human hand, and Will curls up, the second mouth far too close to his legs for comfort. That accent is familiar, and Will is certain, now, that this was the thing that found him in the dark.

The creature's head tilts. "Do you know the language I speak?" it asks. Will swallows, and nods, unable to do anything else. It smiles. "What is your name?"

"Will," Will rasps.

"Will," it repeats. "I am Hannibal." Will gasps, eyes widening further, and Hannibal's smile widens in turn. His teeth do not look precisely human; they look like the teeth of a spider, thick-clustered and sharp-fanged. "I see my reputation precedes me."

Will nods again. The spider god. Trickster, liar, manipulator. A terrifying beast that no one has seen and lived to tell the tale.

Hannibal hums, and his fingers spread out wide around Will's throat. "Why do you tremble?" he asks. "Are you hurt?"

"No," Will replies. He tries to quiet his heart, quell the roll of his stomach. Hannibal's legend is one of hospitality, the same way spiders are hospitable. They may allow another in their web, as a polite host, provided the guest is polite as well and does not do a better job as a meal. "Forgive me; I never dreamed I would ever see someone of your magnificence."

Hannibal's eyes flash, blacken around the edges, before they go back to an iris of dirt and blood. Hannibal smiles, and leans down further, until Will can smell fresh meat on his breath. His hand on Will's throat grows tight. "You are the one who wandered into my land," Hannibal reminds him, voice smooth and soft, not at all like Will imagined a god to speak. "Why did you come, if not to visit me?"

"I was exiled, my lord," Will replies. "Driven from my village because I could speak to the forest, and bless the people. They called me a witch."

"A witch," Hannibal repeats, his mouth twisting in amusement. "So do mortals often refer to things they cannot explain. Magic. Unwanted." He prowls closer, the smaller arms around his second mouth idly brushing over Will's thighs. Will swallows harshly, fighting down the urge to whimper. He does not think Hannibal would delight in his fear. "And so you came here?"

"I had hoped to find the ocean," Will says. "I became lost." Another thought strikes him, and he stiffens, looking up at Hannibal with wide eyes. "Did I harm any of your children? Please, my lord, forgive me if I did. It was not my intention."

"Intention or not," Hannibal replies coolly, "yes, you did. Many were harmed. Squashed under your feet or brashly knocked aside by your hands." His grip tightens around Will's throat, tight enough to draw him to tears, for fear to coil up like a rabid animal in his chest. "You destroyed their homes, ruined their nests. A thousand lives, quashed by your insolent presence."

Will cannot speak, for Hannibal's grip on his throat is too tight. The mouth at Hannibal's hips parts, fangs revealing a row of sharp teeth, a seeking tongue. He closes his eyes as Hannibal leans down, sure that he is about to die.

"I am not without mercy," Hannibal whispers to him, and Will whimpers. "You will repay my kind for the lives you took, little Will. If you are strong enough."

Will gasps, as the hand on his throat goes to his hair. Hannibal's legs spread out wide, lowering himself over Will's feet, his second mouth in line with Will's hips, his thighs. Will's eyes widen as the second set of spider arms curl around his clothes, shredding them easily, baring his pale and shivering flesh to the cold earth.

"I can smell your life," Hannibal growls, both human hands in Will's hair, tilting his head up so Will cannot see the fate of his body. Hannibal smiles, purring the words to Will's forehead; "You are young, and potency lingers in your blood. You will give it to me, so I can replace the children you destroyed."

Will doesn't understand, but before he can ask, Hannibal's tongue emerges from his second mouth, and curls thick and wet and burning hot around his flaccid cock. Will cries out in shock, in sudden pleasure, as the second mouth parts its fangs and sucks Will down to the root. He's helpless against the onslaught of pleasure, frozen and stiff as the second mouth suckles at his cock until he's hard. He feels no teeth, just the warm, wet heat of the creature.

Hannibal shushes him when he cries, and lets Will bury his face in the creature's chest, clinging to his hips helplessly as Hannibal sucks on his cock. He cannot resist the way his hips rut up, every muscle in him anxious to chase the pleasure before his inevitable destruction.

Hannibal sighs, a heavy and contented sound, and Will wonders if he will be allowed to live, when the spider god is finished with him.

"Doesn't it feel good, Will?" Hannibal purrs, nuzzling his wild hair, nosing a single leaf from his curls. Will nods, gasping as the tongue tightens around his cock, stroking him like a wet hand, and it's so warm and wet on the inside of Hannibal's second mouth. His mind is aflame, every inch of him trembling under the sudden onslaught of pleasure. "You're so lovely, a beautiful young man."

Hannibal leans down, far more flexible than Will imagined, and bites at the arch of his ear. Licks into the hollow, and the all four of his arms wrap around Will, at his shoulders and his hips. He feels wetness, dripping venom, and then Hannibal's spider arms lift him and Will cries out, clinging helplessly, his heels hooked at the join of Hannibal's human body and his exoskeleton, made to thrust into Hannibal's second mouth as Hannibal holds him at the back of his neck, and kisses him.

Venom, sweet and thick, floods Will's mouth, and he feels that familiar warmth trickle into his stomach, bulging behind his lungs. Hannibal sucks on his tongue and his cock with both his mouths, uses the venom dripping from his spider mouth to coat his second set of arms, and Will feels a claw dip, drag, and pierce between his legs.

He screams, head falling back, blinking up at the sky as he sobs. Hannibal does not penetrate him where the body's natural opening is, but between it and the root of his cock, and blood pours out thick and heavy into Hannibal's second mouth, growing so much more wet, so much warmer.

"Do not fret, dear one," Hannibal purrs. "It will not hurt for long."

Will is panting, sweating and trembling from pain, and Hannibal cups his head and kisses him again, sharp teeth biting through his lower lip and giving him another hot gush of venom. Unbidden, Will's cries turn to a moan, his head feels heavy and light all at once, his heart quickens and his cock pulses in Hannibal's mouth, dripping onto his tongue.

Will comes with a shudder, as Hannibal's talon shoves deep into him, and then through the backside of his belly. Hooked, shredded open, Hannibal lets him drop with enough force that his flesh is forcibly separated, root and all, and Hannibal swallows down every part of it.

Will sobs, still so alight with pleasure he doesn't register it at first. His hands sink down, seeking fullness, pressure, seeking his cock so he can wrap his fingers around it and continue to touch himself. But he finds nothing but a bare, open gash, feverishly leaking blood. He's been split open and devoured from his ass to just below his pubic bone, and still, he shoves his fingers into the wound, gasping as pleasure lights up his spine and blood gushes between his legs, soaking his thighs, his knees, down to his ankles.

Hannibal's growl makes him open his eyes, and he can't stop fingering himself, gasping as Hannibal smiles at him, and his second mouth licks its fangs and swallows his flesh. He sobs, unable to stop, another orgasm making his belly clench, his blood flow thick. He's losing too much, he knows it.

Hannibal smiles, and leans down, one hand cupping his face, wet with tears. His other human hand flattens between Will's legs, over the gashed wound he laid, and Will weeps and shudders as he comes again, gasping, moaning when Hannibal manages to fit four of his fingers in alongside five of Will's.

"You are so very strong," he purrs, and Will closes his eyes when he's kissed. "You will bear our children so wonderfully, little Will, I'm sure of it."

Will nods weakly, and gasps when he feels more tickling on his arms, his feet. He looks down, whimpering at the sight of his own mutilated body, to see more spiders, much larger than mortal breeds, crawling over him. Webs descend from their bodies thickly, and he winces, pulling his fingers up, as Hannibal's children dip their spines into his flesh on either side of the gash, and begin to sew him shut so he doesn't bleed out.

"Rest now," Hannibal whispers, and kisses his forehead. Will's eyelids droop, as though commanded to, and Hannibal slowly pulls Will's fingers out of himself, still shaking with pleasure. The second mouth licks them clean, drooling semen and blood, and Will moans for it. "I will wake you when it's time."

He doesn't understand, but cannot voice his questions. Lethargy and blood loss seize him, and he falls asleep to the feeling of thousands of tiny spines sewing his flesh closed.

Will wakes in agony, a sharp cry to his knuckles as he curls up on himself, feeling with growing horror between his legs. A web has been made there, the skin sewn shut and leaking blood. He looks down at himself, his missing cock, removed testicles. A deep, dark gash spreads from his belly to his ass, and he sobs in horror and disbelief.

But…. He is unable to stop himself touching the wound, gingerly. His fingers spread out on either side of the webbing, and he gasps at the fissures of pleasure that run up his spine at the touch. He wants to press harder, to feel his insides again. He tests the bulge of his organs trying to press against the webbing, to fall out of him. His body is swollen and sore but it feels so good to touch, to press…

Large hands wrap around him, and Will looks up to see Hannibal spread wide across his pit. His spider body is twice the size it was, bulging and shifting like muscle beneath skin. Will gasps, and Hannibal smiles at him, dropping down elegantly to the floor. His hands flatten on Will's, and force him not to touch.

"They are ready, little one," he purrs, and Will swallows. He has no idea what that means, and Hannibal's eyes are hypnotic; he can't look away. Hannibal lifts him again and Will cries out, legs wrapping around his human torso, and he feels the tongue from the spider's mouth licking ravenously between his legs. It feels good, it feels wonderful, and Will whimpers and buries his face in Hannibal's shoulder as he's licked, tongue hard against the webbing, every curl and tease of it sending pleasure sharply up his spine.

Hannibal's second pair of arms wrap tight around a leg each, and pull him wide. Until Will's hips crack, and he cries out as he feels the webbing, slowly, tear. Blood and organs slip out of him.

 _To make room_ , voices say, and they sound like the spiders.

Hannibal kisses him to give him more venom, and when Will falls lax, half delirious with pleasure and close to death, he is turned around and placed on his hands and knees, and covered by the body of the spider god.

Hannibal bows down, twisting around to him, and holds his face so Will cannot see. He hears something slick, like the forcible crack and opening of an egg, and then something huge and tentacle-like pressing at the webbing.

"Are you ready, little Will?" Hannibal purrs, and kisses him before he can answer. Will whimpers as, suddenly, the tentacle is forced through the webbing between his legs, tearing it apart, and fills Will's stomach so much he feels his skin stretch for it. He cries out, unable to reconcile the feeling of being so torn open, and Hannibal's venom makes it feel wonderful. His body clenches, stomach and ribs around the tentacle, and he screams and cries, ending the kiss and looking down at himself.

Blood oozes from his wound, dripping webbing down his stomach to his chest. It looks like a man has already come inside him, his seed leaking sticky-wet down Will's thighs.

Hannibal's body has parted to reveal what Will can only call his cock, for he knows no other name to accurately describe it. It's huge, easily the length of Will's spine, thick as his own thigh, and forcibly parts Will's hips until they crack, broken open. His spine juts against his own skin. He can see every rib stuck out in stark relief.

Hannibal's spider arms hold him below his ribs, keeping him still, and Hannibal's legs spread out, bracing themselves on the edges of the pit, and thrust so deep into Will he feels his throat and collarbones bulge and snap from the force and the size. He can no longer scream, his throat is too mangled, and still, somehow, he is alight with pleasure. His body convulses with it, coming again and again around Hannibal's cock.

He can't breathe, can't think. Hannibal takes his head and kisses him as he works his cock deeper into Will, splintering his hips, bulging his stomach. His second mouth licks over Will's shoulders and gnaws at his hair, tongue thick and still smelling of Will's blood sliding around his throat to choke him.

And then, Will feels it. A bulbous knot, harder than Hannibal's cock, slowly eking from Hannibal's body and shoved through the sheath of his cock, into Will's belly. He sobs around Hannibal's tongue, and Hannibal pulls back, soothing him with warm hands and gentle shushing, and Will collapses, weightless, suspended by the tentacle that has replaced his spine, held up by Hannibal's strong arms.

The egg seats itself in Will's stomach, and then a second one comes. He's so full, he's sure his stomach will rip open from the presence of so much inside him. His heart feels like he will vomit it out, shoved so high in his chest.

He feels his liver burst, and bile drips from the gash, stinging him. It leaks from his mouth. His intestines and stomach wither and slide out of him from the acid of his own bile. His blood turns black, and so thin it's like water.

A third egg comes, and Will screams as he feels the first egg burst. Not out of pain, for he feels no pain – panic. He cannot afford to kill Hannibal's children, does not dare end this blood oath with failure. But he feels, in his stomach, another tickling sensation, like he has swallowed live moths.

"My lord," he rasps. "My lord -."

Hannibal smiles, and one of his claws slices Will across the stomach. From the wound, thousands of spiders the size of his palm fall, skittering away, chittering with life. Will weeps to see it, blood and more venom dripping from his open womb, and he presses his hand to the wound once the first litter is free, so that he gives the second more pressure to hatch.

He needn't have worried. Hannibal's eggs come in unending waves, now, the pressure of them like a thick cock everywhere Will is sensitive. They come two, three at a time, larger than both his fists, forced into the opening Hannibal made inside him and Will is weak with relief, with gratitude, that the spider god in all his foresight saw to remake him into something so capable. He would have died, he's certain, if he wasn't this open.

Spiders crawl out of his stomach, out of his gash around their father's cock, up, higher, into Will's heart and lungs. He coughs, and tenderly lets them crawl from his tongue and drop to the floor. Some of them remain, nuzzling his hand, curling around his thighs, ready to web him back together once their father is done with them.

He weeps, staring at his children, and Hannibal cups his face and kisses him when the final egg bursts, and all his children are free. Hannibal's cock licks the inside of his belly, and venom seals the wound closed. Spiders come up and sew over it, so there is a lovely white line across his stomach. Hannibal's cock withdraws, and Will shivers with another orgasm, his body convulsing and leaking blood, organ matter, webbing, egg sacs.

Hannibal lets him go, and Will collapses to the ground, gasping. His legs won't move, his hips so thoroughly cracked he cannot control them. His lungs are battered, half his organs lying in a wet heap on the ground beneath him that he watches his children devour. He watches, delirious and spent, as Hannibal carefully helps his smaller children up out of the pit, so that they can go and grow freely, weaving their webs and marking their territory.

On the verge of death, heart weak, he smiles.

Will wakes, despite everything, to snow covering the ground. He reaches out with a shaking hand, dragging his fingers through the frost. A spider, large as his head, sits nearby, and gives a little chitter of greeting. Will smiles, and reaches out, petting over its hairy face. Four of its eyes are black, and shining, and the rest have the cool blue of his own iris.

A shadow covers him, and he looks up to see Hannibal descending on the pit. The spider chirps, and crawls up to sit on Will's shoulders. Hannibal has a deer carcass in his human hands, webbed and drained, and lays it down. From the holes in the pit, more of Will's larger children emerge, swarming the carcass, and the one on his back climbs down to join its brothers and sisters as they feast.

Hannibal smiles at him, and reaches down to cup his face. Will moans, agonized, unable to move his legs. He feels like he should not be alive, should not be able to breathe. Should not feel his heart beating in his throat.

He coughs, and from his mouth comes one last spider. She spun a web between his parted lips, and shines a beautiful golden color. She is very small, and does not descend with her brothers, but crawls up Will's face to nestle in his hair.

Hannibal kisses him, and his venom soothes Will's aches, though he still cannot move. It frees his tongue. "My lord," he whispers. "Is it now my fate to become your meal?"

Hannibal's eyes flash, and turn black for a moment. "No, my darling," he replies. He curls up over Will, his human body a perfect size to rest against his back. He nuzzles Will's hair, mindful of their daughter within it, until she jumps down and skitters away. Hannibal wraps his arms around Will, so warm, and Will shivers, for he didn't realize how cold he was until Hannibal touched him.

"I will heal you," Hannibal promises. "And you will give me another clutch of children, and another. Your seed will give me several generations." He laughs. "Then, maybe."

Will cannot help laughing as well. "If you heal me, and make me able again, I can give you more."

"That is true," Hannibal replies with a contemplative hum. Will shivers, as Hannibal's spider arms spread his limp legs apart, and the second mouth parts, tongue licking at the thick webbing between his thighs. He moans weakly, utterly without strength, as the tongue weaves its way in past the webbing and strokes him on the inside.

"You have proven more than suitable for me," Hannibal purrs, planting each word with a gentle kiss to Will's ear, his cheek, his mouth. The taste of his venom makes Will feel empty, weak. He flattens a hand to his scarred stomach and moans when he feels the tongue lick on the innards of it. "I think I will keep you, my little witch."

Will smiles, and turns his head, moaning when the spider god kisses him until Will cannot breathe.

"Your debt was paid with this first clutch, dear Will," Hannibal tells him. "Is there something I can do, to urge you into heat, so you will give me another?"

Will blinks. The concept of being urged into anything is foreign to him, and he wonders what that might mean; if he will become so desperate and sick with desire that he will come to the spider god and beg to be filled like that again.

Inside him, Hannibal's tongue licks deep, licks Will to orgasm, and he cries out, clenching around it, and knows Hannibal is tasting his blood.

The pleasure of it all makes Will dizzy, and he cannot think. Knows only the violent hospitality of this god and that every gift must be received graciously, and an opposite offer given. For each generation Hannibal takes from him, he will be compelled to offer something in return. For every day Will is allowed to live, he must give thanks and gratitude.

"The village that exiled me," he whispers, as his orgasm fades from him, clears his mind. Hannibal hums, petting down him with all four arms, lifting his hips so the tongue can lick deeper, tease at the base of his heart. "I think – _ah_." Another wave of pleasure surges in him, and Will trembles, gasping when Hannibal kisses his neck. "I think I would like to see our children devour them."

Hannibal laughs. "That is a delightful idea, my little witch," he purrs. "But those men will likely kill them in scores. It will be a great loss of my kind, should we do that."

"I'll give you more," Will promises, shaking, every muscle in him liquid and lax as Hannibal licks him on the inside, until his stomach bulges and his lungs break apart. "I'll give you an army."

Hannibal growls, shivering in anticipation, and kisses Will until he is flooded with venom, and then Will is pulled down by the spider's arms, Hannibal's tongue withdraws with one last lick, and Will feels his thick cock pushing at what little webbing remains.

"Well then, my darling Will," Hannibal whispers, and bends down to kiss him as his cock forces Will apart again. "There's no time to waste."


End file.
